


Órenyallo

by Lumeriel



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/M, POV First Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-07
Updated: 2017-12-07
Packaged: 2019-02-11 20:20:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12943029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lumeriel/pseuds/Lumeriel
Summary: Haleth & Caranthir's farewell





	Órenyallo

I'm strong. I am like the stones that cross my path and break the boots of my men. I'm strong. I am like the gale that sweeps and cleans the earth. I'm strong. I'm a survivor.

While my father and my brother fell under the blows of the enemy, I survived. I was not hiding in the house with the rest of the women. Since I can remember, I walked along the same path as our men, wielding the knife and the sword. I am a warrior, a soldier more. Our men trust me. They look at me and trust that I will guide them until my nephew is able to lead them in peace and war. I am one of them, and that pleases them ... although sometimes it scares them.

That's why we'll leave tomorrow. Tomorrow we will leave the lands of the Elf Lord who offered us hospitality and refuge. Tomorrow we will be people from the road again, looking for our own place ... a place where there are no proud lords older than our race, and beautiful as the sun and the stars at the same time.

I'm strong. I am like the earth that holds the footsteps of the Second Children and welcomes their bodies to the oblivion of death ... the oblivion and death that he will not know unless in bad time the sword of an enemy mows his destiny. I'm strong.

And yet, for a moment - the brief moment when you take a breath - I have wanted to be weak. While his eyes - gray as a stormy sky - looked at me harshly, reproaching me for my decision, I wanted to be weak like the delicate maidens of his race. I wanted to collapse at his feet and beg him for once - only once - not to see in me the warrior who rides at his side and does not lose step in the battle. I have wanted to be beautiful and exquisite, able to ignite his desire and tempt him.

But I am strong. It is what I am. Not beautiful. Not delicate. Not sweet. Not exquisite. Only strong.

That is why, when my instinct shakes my sleep, I do not scream in horror; but I grab the knife under the pillow and jump on my attacker.

I can barely stop the blade before it cuts his throat and he looks at me with his bare hands raised in peace. Peace? Neither of us already remember peace.

"What are you doing here?" I ask, without understanding.

"You are leaving."

He says what we both know, what I have told him for a week ... and for that reason I watch him intently ... to drink for the last time the beauty of his proud features, the hardness of his straight mouth, the darkness that his thick eyebrows spills over the clear eyes, the bitterness that tightens his chin.

"Yes." I say because silence is a weight in my stomach and in my chest.

"I do not want you to go."

His voice is a murmur that runs through my blood and shakes my bones. I'm strong.

I shake my head and shrug my shoulders.

"It's the best for my people."

"Your people would be happy here, in my lands." He says hard, almost furious and I see the flush ignite his cheeks as in battle.

" **Your lands** , sir", I point out, gently; but without yielding an apex of my firmness.

"They could be **your lands**." 

My heart stops - my heart is not as strong as me and it jumps mad at his words.

"We would always be your vassals", I shake my head, slowly and he does not know that I am denying my heart, not him.

"You would be my lady."

My heart now sings, it sings so loud that I know he listens to it and its song comes out through my eyes and my lips parted. I can not shut up my heart ... I do not want to shut it up while he approaches, kneeling on my bed and grabs me by the elbows to get up between the sheets and take me to his body.

My heart sings when his mouth finds mine. It sings when his arms wrap around me and his hands undress me in a hurry. It sings when his skin touches mine and my legs surround his hips, and he searches for my sex and invades it slowly, stopping before breaking the seal of my virginity. It sings while he moves inside me, always taking me further when I think I can not feel him anymore. It sings when my body breaks into moans that he devours with his kisses. It sings when he moans my name against my throat and I feel his wetness fill me.

My heart sings while he kisses me, forces me to stay awake, to sit on his hips, to take him inside me. It sings while his hands guide me in the ride that unites us again in pleasure. It sings while his voice caresses my ears and skin with words in his language, which I do not understand; but it does not matter ... because my heart knows that it sings with him.

 

My heart is silent as I leave the bed and I dress in silence so as not to wake him up. I'm strong. For that reason I do not turn to look at him lying face down on the bed - the light of dawn dyeing gold his dark skin and his almost reddish hair so black. I do not say goodbye I do not give his promises a chance. I do not hear the screams of my body, which cries for his.

I'm strong. I leave taking my people, my nephew ... taking his smell on my skin, his taste on my lips, the emptiness that his absence leaves in my entrails, the emptiness that no one else will fill ... I leave without looking back, feeling in my chest the pain of his awakening without me, the rage of his despair, the pain he will never share with anyone... I am strong. I walk away from my lord, from my love, pretending that his pain does not burn inside me, pretending that I am free, pretending that I am whole when I leave his lands.

My heart does not sing anymore. I'm strong. Where my heart used to be, now there is only emptiness and a pain that will never calm down.


End file.
